


do you have room for one more troubled soul

by antrozous



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: (Past) Burke/Cristina, Domesticity, F/F, F/M, Multi, OT3, Platonic Life Trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 04:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20002012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antrozous/pseuds/antrozous
Summary: Yang was a shot in the dark. She was serious, un-fun, humorless, and he had nothing to lose. It never occurred to him that she’d actually say yes, or that she’d keep saying yes. He doesn’t know how they got to the point where he doesn’t even have to ask.He doesn’t know why he keeps coming back, either. She’s not even his type. He’s used to easy (not that Addison was ever easy), andgod, nothing about Yang was easy. She’s abrasive, too intense, and sometimes a little too fucking hard to please.Unless you’re me, he muses.He also doesn’t know how it took him this long to realize that he hasn’t been with anyone else since they started fucking. Not unless theirménages à trois(yes, plural) with Torres counted. They weren’t exclusive, they weren’t even dating. He held no delusions that their little trysts mean anything more than scratching an itch. It’s just that she wore him out enough that he was too tired to even flirt with other women.





	do you have room for one more troubled soul

**Author's Note:**

> This is very gratuitous. I always felt like the dynamic between these three was very good but very understated. Mark and Cristina were very important to Callie, and Callie was very important to them so they kind of looked out for each other by proxy. See: the three of them having drinks together because Callie had a breakdown in the O.R., Mark calling Callie to check on Cristina when Cristina quit being a surgeon, Mark and Cristina when Callie was in the hospital, etc etc. They’re precious.
> 
> This is set somewhere around S5. Owen isn’t really a thing here. And that’s the way it should be.

They’ve been fucking for four months now. Four months of hot, dirty, wildly competitive (not surprising), extremely kinky (not _that_ surprising), relentless, mindblowing sex. Anywhere, everywhere, and with increasing frequency.

Their… _arrangement_ was really more about practicality than anything else. Addison’s gone, Burke fucked off to god knows where, and half the women in the hospital have waged a war against him. Besides, she was hot. He would’ve gone for it sooner if she hadn’t been off-limits. Truth be told, he’d been too scared of Burke to even try.

Yang was a shot in the dark. She was serious, un-fun, humorless, and he had nothing to lose. It never occurred to him that she’d actually say yes, or that she’d keep saying yes. He doesn’t know how they got to the point where he doesn’t even have to ask.

He doesn’t know why he keeps coming back, either. She’s not even his type. He’s used to easy (not that Addison was ever easy), and _god_ , nothing about Yang was easy. She’s abrasive, too intense, and sometimes a little too fucking hard to please.

 _Unless you’re me_ , he muses.

He also doesn’t know how it took him this long to realize that he hasn’t been with anyone else since they started fucking. Not unless their ménages à trois (yes, plural) with Torres counted. They weren’t exclusive, they weren’t even dating. He held no delusions that their little trysts mean anything more than scratching an itch. It’s just that she wore him out enough that he was too tired to even flirt with other women.

Not that he’s complaining, of course. She’s a _goddess_ – as brilliant and talented in bed as she is in the OR. Creative, too, in ways he never expected.

 _"Mediocrity is not an option,”_ he remembers her saying, both of them breathless and spent.

He doesn’t think he’s ever appreciated someone’s work ethic until he met Cristina Yang.

* * *

“You’ve ruined me, you know,” he starts, pausing to lick the milk chocolate off the small of her back, his hands just above her hip, holding her down. She hums in approval.

“Oh, yeah? How’s that?” she asks, not really interested in his answer. She’s more interested in the path he’s tracing up her spine to the spot just below her ear, and his fingers making his way to… _oh god yes there._

He flips her over so she’s on her back, and he captures her mouth with his in a heated kiss.

She pulls away just far enough to pepper kisses along his jaw, one of her hands grasping the hairs on the back of his neck.

“I haven’t been with anyone else, since, you know, us,” he admits, his thumb tracing slow circles around her nipple.

She moves to straddle him then, and he complies. She positions herself so that he’s pressed against her clit, and she grins as he starts to twitch against her.

“We’ve been with Torres.” she supplies.

“ _We’_ ve been with Torres. The two of us. Together. At the same time. Threesomes that include you don’t count.” he says, and she raises an eyebrow at this. He raises his hands up, “Hey, I know what this is, and I’m happy with this arrangement. _Believe me_ , I am. But you, my friend, have sexed me out. I no longer have the sexual energy to even flirt with other women. And I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

She looks at him thoughtfully, a smug look starting to form on her face, “Well, do you want us to stop? ‘Cause we can stop.” She knows he doesn’t, and she rolls her hips to make her point.

He groans and flips them over so that he’s on top of her again, uses one hand to pin her wrists above her head, the other to hold her hips down. He enters her slowly, makes her feel every inch of him as he fills her. He pauses once he’s halfway inside of her, and grins at the frustrated groan she gives him when the hand on her hip keeps her from rocking her hips into his like she wants to.

He leans into her, then. Gives her a quick kiss before whispering, low and dirty in her ear, “Do you want me to stop? ‘Cause I can stop.” He makes his way downward, drags his lips over her chest, to her breast, and laves her nipple with his tongue, all while trying to keep his hips very, very still.

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” she says, and she’s a little breathless.

“Anyone ever tell you that you complain too much? I’m doing some of my best work here. You can at least be a little appreciative,” he retorts, releasing his hold on her wrists.

She pulls her to him, hooks a leg around his ass and lets him fill her to the hilt.

He rocks into her slowly – a pace he knows she’s not gonna be happy with, and starts again, “Seriously, though. Have _you_ been with anyone else? Because I like to think I’ve been sexing you out—”

“Well, right now you’re not doing a very good job of it, so can we talk about this after?” she cuts him off, frustration coloring her tone.

Mark nods, grins, and she grasps the back of his neck and kisses him, pushes her tongue into his mouth before he can start talking again.

He pounds into her, gets a hand between them to rub her clit mercilessly, and she’s writhing beneath him.

“Dr. Yang,” he taunts, knowing full well it’s going to annoy her.

“ _Sloan_ ,” she warns. 

He pushes into her harder, teases her nipple with his tongue, and pretty soon she’s clenching around him, losing herself to orgasm. He comes inside her soon after, releases into her with a grunt and kisses her softly.

The air in the room is hot and heavy with the smell of sex, and he rolls off of her, flops down onto one side of the bed trying to catch his breath.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” he teases, smiling at her. 

She chuckles, gives him a pat on the shoulder before pulling the sheets up on top of her. She’s sated and spent, and she doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon.

Mark gets up from the bed, grabs one of his Columbia shirts from his closet and throws it at her unceremoniously. She’s always so goddamn cold, and while he’s more than willing to share his body heat, she always gets testy when he offers to cuddle.

“Thanks,” she says, putting it on and slipping under the sheets once again.

Mark pulls on a pair of sweatpants before flopping back onto the bed, propping himself up on one of his elbows so he could face her.

Cristina sighs, knowing damn well she’s not gonna be able to sleep until Mark’s had his talking time. “I’ve been with Torres,” she says, answering his question from earlier.

“What? _Without me?_ ” he says, and he sounds almost offended. “Why didn’t you invite me?” She doesn’t even need to look at him to know that he’s pouting. 

“We do live together,” Cristina explains. “Besides, she needed the practice, and I’ve got the experience.”

“So do I! She knows that. _You_ know that. I would’ve made an excellent teacher,” he says, a little upset. 

“Well, she can’t exactly practice on _you_ now, can she?” Cristina retorts, glancing over at Mark when he doesn’t say anything. Cristina rolls her eyes. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Mark nods, still trying to picture them in his head, “So… how’d she do?”

Cristina makes a show of thinking about it. “I’ll give her a B plus. A little more practice and maybe we can get it to an A.”

“I’d still like to be invited,” he says, not letting it go. “Imagine what she can learn from both of us.”

Cristina groans, throwing an arm above her eyes. “Goodnight, Mark." 

“Goodnight, Dr. Yang,” he says, turning the lights off and pulling the sheets on top of him.

* * *

Mark wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside table. He glances at the alarm clock before picking it up.

“Torres. It’s 5:30 in the morning,” he grumbles, looking over at Cristina to make sure he hasn’t woken her up. He fixes the sheets so that the skin peeking out from underneath is covered.

“Psh, you’re gonna have to wake up soon anyway. I’m outside,” Callie replies, far too cheerful for 5:30 in the morning.

Mark picks his robe up from the floor, pulls it over him, and makes his way outside the bedroom to the door. He pulls it open to find a smiling Callie, a bag of groceries in hand. “Just for the record, it’s my day off. I was planning on sleeping in. And maybe have some more hot, dirty sex with Yang.”

“Good morning, sunshine!” Callie says, noting the gruff look on Mark’s face, and walks past him, letting herself in. She puts the bag of groceries on the counter, and starts rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out some pans. 

“What’s wrong with you, woman?” Mark says, monotonous. “And more importantly, where the hell did you do groceries at this hour?”

“I figured you wouldn’t have any milk,” Callie says, looking through his fridge. “Okay, seriously, Mark. Unsalted butter is a crime against humanity. I thought we talked about this.” She turns to look at him, holds out the stick of butter as if demanding an explanation.

It’s still far too early for Mark to come up with a proper retort. “I’m… sorry?” he says, a little confused. He watches Callie lay out the ingredients on the counter. “Pancakes?” he asks, and when Callie nods he shakes his head a little, “That’s not gonna cut it. Yang’s here.” He goes for the cabinet under the sink, looking for the waffle iron.

“Oh, right.” They both know where Cristina stands on the Pancakes vs. Waffles debate. She’d eat the pancakes anyway, but they thought they’d spare themselves the skulking. They don’t care either way.

Mark leans his elbows on the counter and watches as Callie whisks the flour and the eggs together. “So… what are you doing here so early?”

“I really wanted pancakes. Or waffles. Whatever. Figured it’d be a waste to cook just for one, so I came here. Yang’s here anyway,” Callie explains, and something about the way she says it makes Mark suspect that there’s more to it than that, but she doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk about it, so he doesn’t push for now. Instead, he leaves her to her mixing, and goes for the espresso machine. It’s actually from Yang — well, Yang and Burke’s botched wedding, but whatever. All it cost him was letting her assist on the rhomboid flap on one of his Mohs defect repairs.

They work in comfortable silence. Callie on the waffles, and Mark on the coffee. They both turn when they hear footsteps padding through the bedroom.

“She’s up,” Callie says. She plates three waffles, drizzles the one for Cristina with extra syrup.

Cristina pokes her head out from the door, hair in a wild mess. “Torres,” she says as a way of greeting. “Thought you were having Hahn for breakfast.” She finally gets her pants on and walks into the living room in the fuzzy slippers she keeps at Mark’s place.

“I was,” Callie says, and Mark gets the sense that this is what she didn’t wanna talk about. She hands Cristina her plate, looks at the both of them, assessing, decides she’s better off telling them. “Last night,” she starts. “I was, you know, down there, and when she finished she kind of started… crying? So, I panicked and I told her I had to leave early because you were having some kind of emergency.”

Mark and Cristina share a look.

“She cried?” Cristina urges, trying to suppress her amusement.

“Yeah. Like, full-on burst into tears _crying_ after orgasm,” Callie says in a rush.

“You should take it as a compliment,” Mark says, setting his coffee down.

Cristina nods in agreement, and goes for the waffles. When she sees the unsalted butter she makes a face. “Okay, what the hell is this?”

“I told you,” Callie says, and raises an eyebrow at Mark pointedly.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos + comments are very much appreciated! I’m not completely sure where I’m going with this but it would help to know I’m not just screaming into the void!


End file.
